Barred From WIlly's
by HeadGirl1
Summary: Just a drabble about what Spike obviously does when he's bored and the true meaning of Sire.


(So, it's not something I'm overly proud of, but I was bored and in the process of some serious writer's block. I've been grounded for, like, five months, so I'm going a bit stir crazy. A few ego boosting comments would help, even if you have to lie to me, haha.)

"What are you doing?" Giles stood in the doorway to his bedroom, tossing his car keys on to his bed and glaring at the blonde vampire that was sitting on his floor, several old books on the floor around him. Said vampire looked up at him, a bewildered look on his face.

"What is this rubbish?"

"Why are you in my room? Why are you in my _apartment_?"

"Slayer made a scene at the Bronze," he said with a face, "So obviously that means _I_ get kicked out. And I've been banned from Willy's until I find someone to beat the snively little human up for me."

Giles rubbed a hand over his weary face. "Spike, I have not had a drop of alcohol tonight so I am not adequately prepared for your mundane antics."

Spike blinked back at him. "Stop being so Britishy and old and tell me what's this rubbish what has all our names in it." He shook a book at him, the pages making soft fluttery sounds. "Are these your Watcher diaries?"

"You know, the term diary would give most people the incentive to _not_ read them."

"Buffy's not the only one in here." Giles said nothing, opting instead to sit down heavily on his bed and sigh. "I'm not talking about other Watcher's or other Slayers, either. Harris is in here." He flipped through some papers. "I'm in here." He stopped suddenly on a page and held it close to his face, squinting his eyes. "Bloody hell, _Angel's_ in here!"

"The purpose of a Watcher's diary is to document what happens to the Slayer," Giles droned.

"But not what happens to her mates," Spike countered, pausing a moment, before continuing, "Or her… vampire." He seemed puzzled to what to call himself. "There's a big blank area in my history!"

Giles shrugged. "I don't know much about you. Would you put those away before you ruin them?"

Spike paid him no heed, continuing his perusal of the papers. "Don't I have my own diary some where? That Lydia woman, remember? Didn't she do an actual report on me?"

"Her thesis, actually," Giles corrected, taking his glasses and wiping them on the hem of his shirt, "And yes, there is a diary reserved just for you, however, most of the info- why am I telling you this? Spike, get out of my bedroom!"

Spike shuffled about, his eyes wide. "Wait, now I'm interested, what about it?"

Giles groaned. "You're not going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you?" Spike shook his head and grinned at him. "Most of the information is incorrect and biased. It's all written from the perspective of Watcher's who were not there at the time of incidents and have most likely never interacted with a vampire before. Almost all Watchers have no idea how things work with vampires and vampire families. They have no idea about clans and rules and how they interact with each other."

Spike blinked incomprehensibly. "So why don't they ask?"

"Well Spike," Giles began slowly, as though speaking to a child, "Not all Watchers are privileged with their own special talkative vampire." Spike did indeed look like a child at that moment, his eyes wide and attentive.

Confusion flitted across his face. "So… why don't _you_ ask me?" He reached over and grabbed at a loose piece of paper. "Like this stuff about Sires, it's all wrong. There's practically nothing here! A Sire is a big part about being a vampire."

Giles grabbed the paper, looking down at it. "What do you mean? It says the necessities. A Sire is a vampire that creates the existence of another vampire and teaches it how to be a vampire."

He looked back up to see Spike looking down at his hands in his lap. He was playing with his shoelace. "It's that split second between life and death," he said softly, "The moments that comes after dieing and before fighting for your life once you realize that you are not ready. Not ready for whatever come next. You're fighting so hard, you don't even realize that your heart actually stopped for a moment or two."

He looked up, his expression wary. Giles blinked, not realizing that he had already become engrossed in the few words Spike had uttered. He nodded, motioning slightly with his hand. "Go on, tell me more."

Spike nodded. "That's when they know. In that split second of heart stopping struggle, they sink their fangs into your neck and quickly draw out your blood. Not all of it, mind you, but enough so that you are no longer controlling your actions. Just your body working on instincts and primal urges." He swallowed, leaning back against the wall. "Then they let you drink their own cold, dead blood. The thick juice flows though your system, bringing the demon to its new host. Flooding your body until there is no more room for your soul." At this, he placed a hand on his chest, his fingers twitching." It flees your earthly bound body as it realizes that it is fighting a losing battles." His eyes found Gile's. "Then you sleep.

"You sleep until the following night, when you claw your way out of your own grave. If you're lucky, you'll have your Sire waiting for you, waiting to welcome you into you new world of darkness." His head ducked down again, his voice dropping to a whisper momentarily. "If you're lucky." He shook his head. "Angeles made me watch a fledge rise from his grave once. He had dusted his Sire. The vampire had been waiting for him for an hour. He wanted to show me how important he was in my unlife. The fledge rose and, after having a complete meltdown, almost immediately found a church. He spontaneously combusted after he tried to, I dunno, cleanse himself in the holy water basin.

"In the case that you are not lucky, which happens often, you arrive in a world that you don't know. Where every noise is ten times as loud and you can see ten times further. You normally combust into flames when the sun comes up because you do not know that you can not go into the warmth.

"Your Sire is your protector. Your teacher. Your guardian. Your parent. Your lover. They are your everything. If you're lucky."

Giles smiled slightly. "Spike?" he asked softly, practically in a whisper, "Would you like a copy of Lydia's thesis? I'm sure there are some things you would like to correct. You know, as long as you're banned from the bars."

Spike looked back up at him. "Ta, Rupes. I'd love to."


End file.
